Debts
by StarCatBurning
Summary: Koriand'r hates debts. Second of my small minifics.


**This is the second of my small minifics. Enjoy! Also... Late Christmas fic?**

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Debts

Koriand'r, princess of Tamaran, does not enjoy having debts. No, she prefers to pay them off as soon as possible. Because what member of a royal family likes having their hands tied behind their back, especially on such a wintry night on Christmas Eve? The decorations hung on the ceiling of her room sparkle, taunting her, but she's tied up in debts.

Literally. She can feel the strengthened ties restraining her naked body, almost impossible to break out of, and wonders for what must be the hundredth time where he'd gotten those from. He contemplates her, smoothly directs his beautiful, slightly lustful gaze into her eyes, making her brain itch and her gaze long to turn away. She can't help but shy nervously away from his stare, choosing instead to gaze out of the window at the falling snow and he chuckles, self satisfied.

_Very smooth, Kory. Very smooth._

He knows she's his - no point denying it now - but she has to remind him she's not doing this willingly, not submitting of her own accord. At least her mouth isn't tied.

"This is the last time, Dick, do you hear me?"

He just smirks at her, and her face feels flushed with embarassement. She's flustered, and he's taking advantage. What a voyeur. He makes his moves slowly, agonisingly, his fingers brushing over her belly, pale skin against golden, making their way up to the soft hollow of her throat, and then her next protest comes out muffled because he kisses her, mashing his lips against hers. Fierce and tender and loving all at the same time.

She's mesmerised. Wants to flee from her body because she doesn't like how it's reacting to his advances. They've never done anything remotely similar to this before, and he's never tied her up like this, giving him free reign over her body. It seems wrong. It goes against her intuitions. It feels...

"Ahhh... Dick..." Her voice is a hoarse whisper, and he strokes her hair, cradling him in the hollow of his chest, his hair downy and soft as it flops over his face in the way she likes, shushing her with yet another kiss.

_...Good. It feels good._

She struggles against the restraints weakly, trying to figure how exactly this came to be.

...

She's wet. Drenched, soaked by the pouring, freezing rain, and flinging fingertips of rain in every direction with every movement she makes. It's winter, but X'hal has decided to play dice with the universe, and so it is raining. Her heels click against the dirty-grey, worn, cracked pavement of a soaked, glistening Gotham street. She's hurrying on her way to apply for a job as a model. She knows that to survive she has to make her own living, and things don't just come to you, unlike on Tamaran. Any other time she'd toss her crimson head and declare that "On my planet," things were a lot different, but now she was getting a job. A job. And perhaps being a princess wasn't going to show up in her resume, but whatever. She could handle this.

She could.

...Try.

Moment's later she's by the front desk of the model agency, a little helpless, watching as hordes of Gothamites stream past. The lift dings about a million times before she finally manages to dampen down the pride a little, just a little, to ask for directions. They're avoiding her like the plague, but eventually she grabs hold of someone, enquires. She must be about half a head taller than him, and she knows her pupilless green eyes are making him nervous. Well actually, he looks absolutely terrified, but at least has the decency to raise a trembling finger in the direction of the lift before scurrying off to join his companions. They are talking in hushed, crudely muted undertones, whispering about her appearance, as if pretending her hearing isn't as good as it is.

Sometimes being descended from cats is not a good thing.

She ignores them, walks towards the lift, smoothing down her short skirt, wondering for a moment if her outfit is too 'skimpy', as Wally put it. There's no one with her; she wouldn't expect there to be. After all, most of the Titans are home visiting their family over Christmas. Only Vic's there to monitor the, well, monitors.

For ages the other Titans have been persuading her to get a job, Donna in particular, telling her "Kory, there's no way you can live out the rest of your life off your parents' money, can you? You'll run out sooner or later."

She wants to tell Donna "Probably later," because there's a fortune. A fortune in her accounts, amassed by her parents and generations before, still increasing as Galfore spends parts of it investing here and there. But she's a good listener. And besides, she wouldn't ever want to let them know. So much ostracism here on Earth, from all the 'normal' people, she really didn't need more from her friends. A princess, _and_ she's rich.

She squeezes into the lift, bumping into someone. A sheaf of papers is dropped onto the wet floor, along with a few choice words, and she apologizes, the words warm and wet on her tongue like blood on a split lip. A sharp file edge digs into her arm as she fidgets, and the tip of a paper tray lifts the hem of her skirt slightly. Her elbow makes contact with someone's shoulder - hard- as she reaches down to adjust it, and there's grumbling, audible grumbling.

To show the 'goodies' now would be inappropriate, as Beast Boy had remarked. The lift makes a stop at a couple more floors, and people trip over her shoes. She's stopped apologizing by now. Her wet skirt is making people squirm nervously away (if space allowed, and they weren't already giving her a wide berth for her appearance) and her hair is sizzling slightly.

Finally the lift dings on her floor. She squeezes out from where she's wedged between two really jumpy ladies and stumbles, shaking off her hair, in front of a plate glass door.

She walks through the office door, tries to look as dignified as Tamaranian-ly possible, but she's sopping wet, and she looks a mess. She knows they won't want her. But she goes in, goes in anyway, to face the disbelieving stares of the managers. Their eyes sweep over her alien eyes, pupilless and catlike, and her skin, too orange to be human.

The secretary raises her plucked eyebrows questioningly, like, _another one?_ She doesn't voice that though, just jerks her thumb aside, drawling, "You'll want Mr. Smith, then." Kory nods an affirmative, and the tense, terse moment of silence allows respite for her heart to jerk uncomfortably in her chest. She sits patiently; waits, until the door of the office is thrown open, none too gently, and a cowering girl is shooed out by a well-upholstered (to be polite) man with a ruddy face, pockmarked with stubble, and a nose that seems to be spreading out all over his face like melting ice-cream with every passing second. He's yelling at her, and even Kory can't help but feel intimidated. Scrap that; she's nervous. Her fingers start to twitch of their own accord as the man flaps his hands at the girl, and she rushes out without a word, quietly sobbing.

He turns and catches sight of Kory. "Here!" He barks, pointing into the room. She wobbles slightly on her new heels - for the love of X'hal how do humans walk in these - and totters a little unsteadily into the room. Just as she steps over the threshold her heels catch on the pile rug and she stumbles, head banging against the door frame. A little hairline split runs through the edge of it, and she cringes inwardly. Mr Smith, for that is who he is, makes a disapproving noise in the depths of his thick neck, but studies her up and down.

"You'll do. Come in."

She mutters acknowledgement, sits down. Her mind's a blur as she runs through all of she questions, stutters, answers awkwardly. Halfway through she sees a figure through the frosted glass plate, arguing with the receptionist about something. A shock of tousled hair, a muscled, lean figure. The sharp collar of a suit, blurred through the frosted glass, moves agitatedly, bobbing up and down. She tries not to be distracted, but fails terribly as her mind slips from the question that she's asked. Her nose is getting itchy, and she resists the urge to withdraw a handkerchief from her bag and blow it.

The interview's a disaster.

As she gets up to go she stands too abruptly and the glass of water on the table is knocked over, effectively ruining her not-to-be-boss' paperwork. He swears, looks like he wants to flip her off but doesn't, and in her apologizing the door opens behind her.

"...Kory?"

It's him. It's Dick, in a suit, face set as he pushes past the secretary, who had obviously been arguing with him. The tears flow freely from her eyes as she stares at her ruined clothes, the boss' mahogany table, and all that put together with the shame of one of her friends seeing her in this state... what was she thinking... he could have been working here... and...

Her nose twitches.

...

Oh, _X'hal._

"Atchoo!"

She's left standing in what looks like the aftermath of a small nuclear war, and everything becomes a blur...

When she finally catches up with what's going on, he has his arm around her shoulder, leading her away from the mess, yelling at the secretary to give the bill to Wayne Enterprises, and she holds it in until they stop at a side alley, just a ways off from the building. Then, she leans on Dick's shoulder, and just _cries._

"Shh," he says, and she feels her tears drying up slowly, until her body just heaves every now and then with suppressed sobs.

"Kory, that was unwise. You should've come to me."

She looks up. "I am very sorry, Dick. I have caused such trouble... for you..."

"I know," he replies, and his eyes sparkle with a new mirth.

"Which is why... You owe me, Koriand'r. Seven at my place." He winks.

Her mouth opens, then closes. She looks down, then back up again.

He's disappeared, in a way that only Nightwing can, presumably having disappeared onto a nearby rooftop. She sighs, wipes her eyes, and stands up.

_Did he just...?_

There's only one way to find out.

She stands up, removes her heels, and walks out of the alley, swinging them in one hand.

_Now, to find out where he lives..._

-END-

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**Thanks for reading!**


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